


Gravewalker

by SierraLaufeyson13



Category: Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor (Video Games), Middle-earth: Shadow of War
Genre: F/M, and soft talion, we got grumpy celebrimbor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 18:10:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16392602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SierraLaufeyson13/pseuds/SierraLaufeyson13
Summary: The battle is lost and so is she until the Gravewalker arrives.





	Gravewalker

Smoke curled in thick, dark clouds above the city, the fires beneath burning fiercely, so hot that one could feel its heat licking at their flesh despite the distance. Fireballs, unlike any that had been seen before, hurled down onto the white slabs of stone, buildings exploding and sending men scattered, screaming, for if they did not die from the impact, the burning of their flesh as the flames consumed them surely would.

The chants of the Uruk-hai could be heard, and the screams of the citizens of Durthang were nearly drowned out in the panic, fleeing for the tower, the enemy not far behind. Their banners unfurled, through the haze the banner of Mordor could be seen as they moved through the bloodied streets, claiming them one by one in an unstoppable surge, like a wave crashing against the rocks. The great horns sounded above it all, urging for a retreat- they had become overwhelmed- the city was falling.

The enemy had finally come.

She was no stranger to war. The horrifying sight of men being slaughtered, bodies lying in pools on the stone, panic, and terror as men who have never seen, let alone done battle be struck where they stood as the enemy came forward. She had been in battle before, but her dear sister hadn't.

There was longsword held loosely in her hand as the gates to the old fortress shook with the onslaught of a flaming battering ram from the Uruks. She glanced at her sister, garbed too in a small set of Gondorian armor with a pair of daggers clenched in her hands, "Idril, you must go." The young girl ignored the command and stood steadfast.

A crack had begun forming in the wooden gate, it was only a matter of time now. Lothíriel sheathed her sword and gripped onto her sister's shoulder, shoving her toward the armory and the passageways that lie beneath. "Do as I say!"

Durthang would fall to the dark forces of Sauron, but they would not take Idril. No, they would not take Lothíriel's sister after the promises she had sworn to their father. Resigned to follow her sister's wishes, Idril heaved a deep breath and ran toward the armory. The tunnels beneath the mountains were small and dark, and above the stone ceiling, she could hear the moment when the gates fell open and the sound of a thousand marching Uruks swarmed the city.

The heat of the flames had her sweltering beneath her armor, blood running heavily down her face, blinding her partially as she tried to blink it away- she had been struck a devastating blow to the face, saved from what would have surely killed her had she not been wearing her helmet, and quickly she slew the orc, her blade covered in thick, black blood. But there was no time to rest- what few she took down, three more took their place.

Her shield she held in front of her, the white tree battered and dented as it blocked blow after blow, her body screaming in agony as she refused to give ground, holding steady against her enemies- behind her were a handful of civilians, a mother with children, terrified and screaming, as she was the only thing standing between them and their certain deaths. The horns sounded again above, the gates would be closing, and there would be no escape- she could not give in.

With a scream she pushed back, slamming her shield into the orc's body, sending him off balance into the few behind him, and more were coming- quickly she turned and shouted orders for them to run, quickly– they would be overwhelmed. If there was no hope for her, watching as a column of Uruk-hai ran with weapons drawn towards her, she knew the citizens fleeing behind her at least had the smallest chance of finding safety. It was all that could be done. She taunted them, jeering as she led them away, anything to give them more time for she knew the more she could take with her, the slower the advance would be, and the more people could escape. She turned and ran, her legs nearly giving way but run she did, and they followed, but no more could she go, for the road stopped before her, blocked by the flames that rose taller than she, crumbled ruins of a building that once stood before, and there was nowhere to turn.

She was trapped.

And yet still the Uruks came. A spear came whistling past her, and she could feel the jagged metal slice through her side, another across her arm as she turned to face certain death. Too many they numbered, their sickeningly black and yellowed teeth revealed as they smiled, knowing that they had her. But she would not go down so easily, despite her wounds- she would stand and fight, till her dying breath.

She lifted her shield high, sword readied at her side, one final battle cry screamed into the burning day.

  ❈  ❈ ❈  

"Gravewalker!" Idril called. The Ranger looked over his shoulder, already reaching for the broken sword, Acharn.  _Stay your sword, Talion, it is just a child_. Listening to the elven wraith that shared his body, he turned. "I need your help," the girl pleaded.

  ❈  ❈ ❈  

Lothíriel knew she was either dreaming or dead at last when she saw her sister cutting through the bindings at her ankles. "Idril?" Her voice no longer sounded right, it was hoarse, weak, fading. The girl nodded and slipped her dagger beneath the rope at Lothíriel's wrists. She fell forward, breathing heavily and coughing. The spittle that landed on the hard ground tinged with blood. Talion knelt. "Who are you?"

The Ranger shook his head and looped his arm around her waist, drawing her back up. "There's no time for introductions, we must go." It was not until they reached the outer parapet of the fortress that an orc spotted them. Panic seized Lothíriel as she looked around for Idril, but somewhere along the way, her sister had gone missing. Yet that was not the case entirely, the orc fell forward –unmoving- and behind the corpse stood Idril with a bloody dagger.

Durthang was fading in the distance when they finally stopped. Talion propped Lothíriel against a fallen tree and went to the river to wet a strip of cloth from his cloak and refill the empty waterskin. "I'm Talion," he said as he knelt at Lothíriel's side. He offered her the waterskin and she took it, greedily, it had been far too long since she'd had water and not grog forced down her throat.

"You're a Ranger," Lothíriel noted, wiping the back of her hand across her cracked lips, smearing the dried and fresh blood alike across her face. She certainly thought he had the look of a Ranger, rugged with hints of the old blood of Númenor.

"And you are a shield-maiden," Talion noted, though now she looked too frail to even heft up a shield and sword properly. There were bruises smattered across what skin was exposed and in other places there were cuts and gouges, some bloody still, other scabbed over. What concerned Talion the most, however, was the deep cut on her leg. "We're still two days out from Minas Ithil, your wounds need binding."

He sent Idril away to Minas Ithil, to gather a small ranging party to come and retrieve Lothíriel. He went in search of any herbs or flowers that could be used to tend to her injuries. Athelas and remmethond had been the only two things he could find in the growing barrenness. Talion knelt next to her once more, this time tearing away the shredded fabric below her left knee. The cut, more like a gouge, was on her calf and prevented her from putting weight on her leg.

Talion made quick work of the athelas and pressed its pulp into the wound. She winced and waited for the numbness to start. "You've soft hands for a Ranger," she mused in a humorous tone, it was her attempt to stifle the pain. Talion's jaw clenched and when he looked up to meet her gaze it was as if Ioreth was staring back at him. He wanted to say something, to tell her that all would be well, or even that he admired her resolve to survive torture at the hands of Uruks, but none of the words would come. The wraith would not allow him to speak.

_Do not become distracted from our cause._ "Who said that?" Lothíriel snapped, suddenly afraid of the disembodied voice.

"Celebrimbor," Talion said in an almost chiding manner. Behind the Ranger appeared a wraith and by the looks of him, he was once an elf. Now his face was marred with deep scars and burns.  _Only those that have witnessed death may see me._  She paled at the admission but understood and once more he faded in the breeze, only to be heard, not seen. "You need to rest," Talion told her, it was a gently issued command, and after the trying days that had passed, going to sleep with at least partially assured safety was welcomed.

Celebrimbor reappeared after the woman had fallen to slumber, her head resting on Talion's thigh, gently clutching the material of his cloak. The elf lord did not look pleased.  _She is not your beloved. Ioreth is still in the grave_ , he reminded the Ranger. All that earned him was a harsh glare. "No," the undead ranger bit back in a hoarse whisper, "she is not, but my heart still beats." Yes, despite the name Gravewalker his heart still beat. He still felt pain and memory, but right now he knew there was something special about Lothíriel and he would not fail her as he done his family. 


End file.
